


at least it was here

by saltfics



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Days, Depression, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insecurity, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltfics/pseuds/saltfics
Summary: "Alex knows Henry has bad days; he’s known for a while now. He’s felt them through the safety of his phone, in the absence of a text message or a detachment in his voice. In a worst case scenario Alex was there through a tired midnight phone call where he rambled until Henry could forget his own mind enough to fall asleep. But he has never lived through the lead up, never witnessed Henry’s own emotions chip away at him until they opened a crack for all the sadness to burrow, to leave him too empty and too full.He knows how Henry often hides when he’s like this, no matter how much Alex tries to help, but with them in the same house, there’s nowhere for him to run anymore. And Alex is horrified to realize he doesn’t know how to help him."
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 39
Kudos: 271





	at least it was here

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, I've been stuck at home for over a month, comfort-reading RWRB. What else was I meant to do? (Nobody answer this).

Alex inhales the crisp scent of fresh paint and new furniture, and he can’t imagine being any happier. Their new apartment awaits before them, ready to be filled with pieces that’ll be them and them alone. They brought some stuff from their old homes and bought a lot more together in the past few days. He grins at the memory of twin smiles on their faces and exasperated service agents at their backs as they rushed through Ikea of all places for a coming-of-age experience Henry couldn’t miss. Alex may have had a little too much fun watching him slowly lose some of his sanity trying to find the exit. 

“If you’re going to keep admiring it, can I at least put the box down?” Though now that he thinks about it, he should have let him try for a couple more hours.

“How are _you_ not having a moment about this?” Alex whines, but moves a step to the side to let Henry pass, cradling an (okay, _fair_ ) heavy-looking box in arms that started to shake from the exertion. “We’re moving in together. _Finally_.”

Henry sets the box down on the kitchen counter and when he turns back to him, all teasing is gone from his voice, replaced by a precious fondness that paints his features bright, softens the edges of the emotion climbing up his throat. “I know, love.” It lasts a second, barely long enough for Alex to see how needless his complaint is, and grin brightly, before Henry regains his composure and then some. “And we’ll celebrate later. In a _rigorous_ fashion.” 

That wink does something funny to his stomach.

“If that’s your way of tricking me into unpacking quickly, I think it’s working.”

They don’t unpack quickly. Too soon, Henry loses his own game and they have to pause in their work for other, more interesting extracurriculars. But Alex likes it that way. He revels in the cozy messiness of a half-unpacked apartment for that first week. Cardboard boxes being used as tables, stained with mug rings within a day. Lunch-time spent sitting cross-legged on the floor, movie nights on scattered pillows and blankets. Alex’s attempt to paint the bedroom himself ends in an abstract piece of modern art that has Henry laughing against his lips when Alex tries to distract him from the mess with a kiss. Henry’s equally horrid endeavor to do laundry ruins more than a few of their clothes. (He tries to copy Alex’s distraction technique too, and though Alex will never admit it, it does kind of work this time around).

And for a while, it’s perfect. It’s everything Alex never quite dared hope it would be. It’s waking up every morning to marvel at the sleeping face next to him, to pale cheeks and golden hair washed by sunlight and a fragile, hopeful quiet, and feeling like his heart will burst any second. It’s Henry smiling as he wakes, greeting him with the same words every day— _morning, love—_ and Alex being convinced he has ascended into some higher realm.

So surrounded is he by their simple domestic bliss that Alex believes for a while there, perhaps a little foolishly, that nothing can touch them anymore. Sure, there are days when their hours are so messed up they don’t see each other for long, or they return so tired they can do nothing but have dinner and fall asleep in each other’s arms, but he’s content to do just that, to take every moment he has with Henry and love it as much as he loves him because they spent so _so_ long not being allowed this, and just as long thinking they might never be allowed it that he’ll take their moments, he’ll take their long hours too and revel in the fact that at the end of the day they’ll be together.

Maybe that’s why he misses it. Or maybe there is nothing to be missed. Because if some kind of sign preludes it, then Alex _should_ be able to pick it up. This is Henry and he loves him and he should _know_ when something is wrong, damn it. But he doesn’t. Not until he wakes up one night, still in the early hours of the morning and notices Henry isn’t there.

Alex waits at first. Maybe he just went to the bathroom for a second, or the kitchen. When twenty minutes later, Henry is still nowhere to be found, he forces himself up with a groan and tiptoes his way to the rest of the apartment.

He finds him without difficulty, asleep on the couch, a slight crease formed between his brows even in sleep. David has taken refuge at his feet like the world’s cutest guardian, though he’s not sure why Henry needs protecting in the first place.

Alex feels his throat dry out. Paranoia itches at the back of his mind, knots the muscles of his stomach. Why would he leave? Is he mad at him for something? Is he upset? He fights back the urge to wake him, to beg him to talk to him so he can apologize, because the idea that Henry felt the need to sleep away from him brings a pressure to the back of his neck and the spot between his brows strong enough to hurt. But he holds himself back, withdrawing the hand that reaches out to him to grasp at his own shirt instead, because although Henry looks stressed even asleep, he is, in fact, sleeping, and Alex will be lying if he says he hasn’t seen how extra tired he’s been lately. Even if, like a fool, he blamed it on their heavy schedules. So he steps back, swallows back the bitter taste in his throat and heads back to the bedroom, where he’ll pretend he can still fall back asleep for the next few hours until morning takes him out of his misery.

It’s the clanging of pots in the kitchen that pokes at his curiosity enough to overpower that all-enveloping sense of dread that covered him layer after layer during the night. Alex reluctantly shuffles over to the kitchen, carrying his exhaustion in his swollen eyes and wild bed-hair, in the way his feet drag slightly on the floor. But he finds Henry placing a plate of eggs on the table, keeping the spoon he used to taste it between his teeth as he rummages around the kitchen to set up the rest of their breakfast.

Sleepy as he is, Alex bumps against the kitchen entrance. 

Henry looks up at the sound and smiles and there’s no anger in his face, but fatigue still settles heavily on his shoulders, making him look smaller. His own fuzzy brain tells him how _wrong_ the image is; all he can think of is how Henry should never ever look small. He’s Alex’s world and he’s so, so much, a whole boy of precious feelings and brilliant thoughts and so much love, as much as Alex has to give him and then more, and he wants to fight whatever is making him look this way, but he’s scared it might be him, so he doesn’t say a thing.

“Morning, love,” he greets, because of course he does, and Alex feels like he can breathe. Henry can’t be that mad at him, surely. “Alex? You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, sure. Sleep well?”

He takes a seat at the table, watching Henry as he picks two mugs from the cupboard and fills them with tea and coffee, before sitting across from him.

“It was fine,” he says. His throat catches slightly on the last word; Henry has gotten so much worse at lying to him. “I didn’t wake you when I got up, did I?”

“When you got up?” Alex says, taking a sip from the coffee, hoping a clearer head will stop him from saying something stupid.

“To make breakfast?”

“Oh, I thought you meant when you got up to sleep on the couch.”

Well, then.

Henry flinches, his fork clanging against his plate, and guilt churns on Alex’s stomach at the deer-in-headlights expression on his face. Alex opens his mouth to apologize, but Henry beats him to it and he feels his heart drop even further down like it wants to personally drag him down to the earth and bury him in there. “I’m—sorry. I… I kind of hoped you wouldn’t notice.” He doesn’t meet his gaze. Alex wants to crawl out of his own skin.

“Are you—are you mad at me?”

“What? No! No, why would I ever—I’m _sorry_ , Alex, I didn’t mean to… This is entirely on me, that’s why I didn’t want you to find out about it.”

He looks so guilty that for a moment Alex forgets why he felt the urge to ask, because nothing is worth seeing this look on him, but he remembers how it felt to wake up in the middle of the night and find himself alone, he remembers the stress lines still marring Henry’s face when he was supposed to be peaceful. Most of all, he remembers days of falling asleep with video calls still on, to the sounds of each other’s breathing, and he doesn’t understand.

“Hen, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, truly,” he sighs, suddenly very focused on his food.

“ _Baby_ ,” he coaxes, like an ass, because even if Henry’s not mad at him, Alex is still a little upset.

Henry runs a hand through his hair and when he pushes his plate away, as done with it as he is with this conversation, Alex wants to stuff his own mouth full of cotton so he never utters another word. “I just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to wake you with the tossing and turning so I thought I’d try sleeping on the couch.”

Alex drags his chair over closer to his, presses their shoulders close together. His heart flutters when Henry leans closer. Thank _fuck._ “I thought you slept better with me around?”

“I do! _”_ The frustration in his voice twists something inside him. He drapes a hand over Henry’s shoulders and pulls him in to rest on his shoulder. Henry buries himself in the crook of his neck, muffling his next words. It might actually be by design. “I kept stressing out over waking you so of _course_ then all I wanted to do is to move, and just—I thought it might help.”

“Did it?” Alex asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Dunno. I’m… Honestly, I still feel exhausted.”

“Well, luckily for you, it’s a Saturday. Just go back to bed.”

They argue about this for a while, before Alex wins, though he can’t be sure it’s not because Henry still feels bad. When Alex tells him to wake him up the next time he can’t sleep, the look he gives him is so broken it startles him. Alex has no idea what to say in the face of it, so when Henry refuses, claiming its ridiculous for both of them to lose their sleep, he doesn’t know how to retort to that. He vows to himself to keep an eye on him, anyway.

He never finds Henry on the couch again.

But at his most stressed, Alex wonders if it’s not because it got better.

* * *

Henry doesn’t stop looking tired. A careful neutrality shows in his expression at times and in the next few days its presence keeps growing and growing and it breaks Alex’s heart. And the worst part is, he doesn’t know _why_. He rummages his mind for something, anything to explain it and comes up short. He asks him at dinner once if everything is okay at work and he startles, but it’s not in a guilty way, only genuine surprise. Alex asks him if he’s all right and it takes three tries for him to realize that Henry never, in fact, answers him because he still hates lying to him. Instead he misdirects to change the subject, with the ease of someone who has done it far too often.

By the third day, he comes home after class determined to have a serious conversation. Because if Henry can’t talk to him about it, he’s not sure who he can talk to and the idea that he’s going through something alone cuts too deep.

He finds him on the couch, all huddled up in the fluffy blanket Bea gifted them for their move, the one that retains the smell of fresh laundry like no other. Henry looks up at his entrance, his whole face lighting up despite the deep shadows under his eyes, the slight inward turn of his shoulders.

And it _hurts_ . It hurts because Henry looks so warm and fragile and strong all the same. It hurts because this simple, untethered version of Henry is so undeniably _his_ and he loves him so much for it he can’t breathe. Henry smiles at him and Alex wants to lift his shoulders up himself, even if he has to hold the entire weight of the sky like a goddamn modern Atlas just to make sure it wouldn’t crush his person, the whole world be damned.

“Hey, love. Join me?”

Alex can’t refuse even if he wanted to. He snuggles up next to him, stealing half the blanket, and Henry lowers himself to rest his head against Alex’s chest in that way he knows he likes.

They chose a movie to watch. Henry’s voice catches when Alex asks if he’s eaten already, but doesn’t refuse when Alex decides to order in for both of them. When the food is gone and the movie is still playing, they resume the same positions. The scent of Henry’s shampoo drifts up to his nose. Alex wants to melt right there.

Slowly, Henry’s arms around him tighten. And tighten. And it doesn’t feel bad, he’s seen clingy versions of him before, even if Alex is usually the one that latches onto him like a grumpy koala, especially when he’s sleepy or upset. He even digs this sudden possessiveness even with just the two of them in the apartment, because Alex is his and he’s long ago made peace with that fact, took pride in it even. But there’s something about the way Henry is holding him now. It’s not possessive. And though there’s something loving in the gesture no doubt, Henry’s not doing it to be cute. He feels his fingers grasp into his shirt and Alex gets the vague image of someone grappling on for dear life, like something bad will happen if he lets go.

Unease lodges in his throat, forces his heartbeat out of step. Alex brings his arms around him, pulling him closer. In turn Henry wraps himself around him tighter as if he was only awaiting permission all this time. His expression is glazed over, lips pressed into a thin line. He can’t possibly be watching the screen. Alex doubts he even notices how strong his hold is.

“… Henry?” Alex whispers, not sure why he’s keeping quiet until Henry jolts at the sound of his name. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Oh, for the love of—

Alex places one hand on his chin and tips it upwards to look at him, and he _hates_ that guarded, defiant look he gets, _hates_ how much better it feels than the empty panic he saw before. “Hey,” he says. “Come on, talk to me.”

To his horror, Henry gets _up_ . “There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing’s _wrong_.”

“ _Okay_ , but something is bothering you, so.” Henry opens his mouth to speak. “Don’t say it’s nothing, or so help me.”

Henry studies him for a second. Emotions plays in his gaze, conflict crackling in his blue eyes and for a single, vivid moment Alex thinks he might say it. Whatever words he conjures up, Henry swallows them down. “I’m going to bed.”

Alex gapes at his retreating back. “ _Henry_ ,” he chokes out. He doesn’t want to pressure him or force him to talk. But he also knows how Henry never asks for help. He knows how alone he has felt in that cold, dead palace and it’s killing him to think that their home could ever make him feel the same way. “Just talk to me. It’s _me_. Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

When Henry finds it in him to look back, Alex backtracks at the heartbreak in his gaze. “I’m sorry. I just—I’m worried about you. I want to help you, H. You think I can’t tell something’s wrong?”

They stare each other down for a moment. Alex can feel his heart fighting to break out of his chest.

His fight leaves him with a sigh and Alex isn’t really sure he’s won anything here. “You’re right... And if you… I… I would have wanted you to talk to me, too.” Taking a seat next to him on the couch, he takes Alex’s hands in his own. “How about this? It truly is nothing important. And it will pass. _But,”_ he stresses when Alex tries to protest. “I promise that if it gets too bad, I’ll talk to you about it.”

Alex wants to refuse. He can hear the exhaustion in his voice. He can see the bruises under his eyes, the lackluster emotion inside them. But this is as much of a compromise as Henry’s going to give him right now and he’ll never trust him if Alex doesn’t let go first. “Okay. If you promise.”

“I do, love.”

Henry keeps his promise. Hell, Alex doesn’t even have to wait long. Because despite what they both hoped more than anything, it does not pass.

* * *

The first thing Alex notices when he wakes up is the unnatural stillness next to him. His heart is already in his mouth when he shifts to look at Henry, and then it does a whole-ass backflip and drops straight down to his stomach.

Henry is lying on his back, half-lidded eyes staring at the ceiling, all the despair in the world carved into the lines of his face. His hand rests on his stomach, like he’s just feeling himself breathe. His eyes are bloodshot, lids swollen from a lack of sleep that seems to creep into the very air he breathes.

“Henry?” Alex whispers, the atmosphere between them so brittle he fears he’ll break it if he speaks too loudly. Henry hums, but it comes out heavier than it should. “ _Sweetheart,”_ he says and Henry lets his eyes slip closed with a sigh. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Maybe an hour. I’m not sure.” He scrunches up, frustration and weariness blending together in a miserable expression on his face. “I just… I couldn’t stop thinking. I don’t know why. My bloody mind would not shut the hell up and I—” A sob crawls up his throat, but when Henry opens his eyes again, they’re still dry, still red, glazed over with exhaustion and something far sharper than that. “I’m sorry. It’s fine.”

“Don’t… Don’t apologize,” says Alex, because he’s not sure what else there is to do. “Please. It’s not your fault. We’ll deal with it, okay?” He pushes himself on one arm to take a better look at him. Henry’s blond locks are a mess, sticking to the side of his face where he must have cried at _some_ point even if he was all dried up by now. How did Alex not wake up earlier than this? He reaches out to push them away. A shiver runs up his spine at the touch of warm skin and Henry closes his eyes again, leaning toward the sensation. “It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you.”

He takes it for the invitation that it is. Henry buries himself in Alex’s arms, head resting on the left side of his chest where he can hear his heartbeat. Alex keeps pressing kisses on his hair, stroking, rubbing circles on his arm. He feels him relax against him, his head settling softer over his heart.

“How long until the alarm?” Henry mutters, voice heavy with sleep.

Alex picks up his phone with his free hand. About an hour. Shit, he doesn’t want to tell him that. “Why don’t you stay in today? Call in sick.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, half muffled by Alex’s t-shirt. “Honestly…” He pauses to yawn. Alex squeezes him just a little bit tighter. “Might as well tire myself out. Maybe then I’ll sleep tonight.”

Henry falls asleep like this for an hour and when the alarm rings, Alex convinces him in his semi-conscious state to let him text the shelter that he’ll be an hour late, so he steals just a little more rest. Alex doesn’t move, he doesn’t go to class, doesn’t even care about any non-mandatory lectures right now. He holds Henry close, trying to keep his own breathing as calm as the sleepy pattern Henry has fallen into, and to not stress about the state he found his boyfriend in this morning.

When he gets up an hour later, half-stumbling around his room to get ready through the heavy haze of sleep, he thanks Alex for staying with him, but he shouldn’t miss class on his account. He gives only a taut, defeated nod when he argues against this. 

Alex wants to start screaming.

* * *

It still takes him some time after he lies down but Henry does sleep that night. When he finally falls asleep, after two hours of tossing and turning despite his bone-deep exhaustion, Alex allows himself to relax too, hoping against all hope that they’ll talk in the morning.

The alarm wakes him far too soon, and he turns to see Henry, except he has his back to him, facing the window. The curtains are parted slightly, sunlight streaming through a thin line, painting the room a hesitant, muted gray. He knows he’s not sleeping; Henry’s too tense for that, too still. Alex bites down the first question that comes in his mind. Then the second, until he realizes he doesn’t exactly know what to do.

“Morning, baby,” he says, keeping his tone casual still, paraphrasing Henry’s own morning greeting that he hasn’t heard in a while now. He won’t dwell on how much he misses it. “How long have you been up?”

Henry sighs, his whole body deflating against the sheets. “A… a while.”

“Okay.”

“I just…”

“Hen—”

“I don’t want to get up…” Henry breathes, a shaky, quiet sound, a secret he’s too ashamed to admit.

“It’s _okay_ , Henry.”

Alex knows Henry has bad days, he’s known for a while now. He’s felt them through the safety of his phone, in the absence of a text message or a detachment in his voice. In a worst case scenario, Alex was there through a tired midnight phone call where he rambled until Henry could forget his own mind enough to fall asleep. But Alex has never lived through the lead up, never witnessed Henry’s own emotions chip away at him until they opened a crack for all the sadness to burrow, to leave him too empty and too full. 

He knows how Henry often hides when he’s like this, no matter how much Alex tries to help, but with them in the same house, there’s nowhere for him to run anymore. And Alex is horrified to realize he doesn’t know how to help him.

He dares reach an arm out to hug him, but falters and strokes his arm instead when Henry tenses even more under the touch. Okay. Fuck.

Henry has never let him see him like this. Which wouldn’t have made a _difference_ to Alex. He loves this stupid, brilliant, stubborn, wonderful man so much, in good and bad days. Heck, he’ll love him even more in those bad times, so his affection could take up all the aching space, until whatever tortures him has no room to grow anymore. He chose this. He promised. He loves him. On purpose.

So Alex makes a list of what he does know.

  1. Henry is upset.
  2. Maybe a part of Henry is always upset, it just hides behind all the other parts.
  3. If it’s a part of him then it’s a part Alex will have to live with.
  4. He’s okay with that.



Unfortunately, there’s nothing on that list about how to help him through it. He tries anyway. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

Henry groans as he shifts to lie on his back, his head tilted to meet Alex’s gaze. The sight shakes something inside of him and his carefully blank expression crumbles into downturned brows and eyes swimming with the first film of tears. “There’s nothing you can do,” he whispers and though deep down Alex may have expected that, it still tears him up to hear it. 

Screw that. They’re here, aren’t they? That alone is proof that there’s always _something_ they can do. They’re together in a home of their own, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make this place a sanctuary of everything impossible and every piece that’s worth the fight. Henry’s worth an entire crusade in his name. And right now Alex will go to war for a glimpse of his smile.

“Okay. But what do you _want_ to do?”

“I have to go to _work_ ,” Henry answers an entirely different question, but Alex can’t even complain to him because his voice wavers with apprehension at the last word.

“Hen… you can stay in today. Don’t get up,” Alex offers. 

Henry lets out the most bitter, broken, half-hearted scoff he has ever shown him and considering the number of discussions they’ve had with Phillip, that’s an achievement in itself. Even if Alex’s chest clenches tightly at the sound, at the implication of how many times Henry has plastered a photo-worthy, million-dollar smile on top of his pain and went along with his day, holding all of this inside to gnaw at his most honest parts for hours until he could allow himself to breathe again, alone behind closed doors. “Take a sick day. They’ll understand.” And honestly, with how wrecked he must have looked the day before, they’ll believe it.

Henry manages to push himself into a sitting position, though his shoulders are so slumped he looks ready to keel over. He lets his head drop to his hands, his hair falling limp and lifeless to cover his face. “If I decide not to go, I’ll… I’ll be relieved for maybe two minutes before I feel bad for it.” His voice is muffled by his own hands, and Alex desperately wants to take them in his, to free his face so he can see him. “It’s selfish.”

“Then don’t do it for yourself?” Alex offers. He counts it as a win when Henry’s head snaps to him, confused. “Mind you, I don’t mean you’re being selfish. You should do it for yourself. Because you deserve it. Because you’ve been working so hard. And you’re, like, the least selfish person I know. Seriously, Hen. Take a breather.”

Henry, _of course_ , tries to protest, which is why this is not where Alex was originally going with it.

“And let’s face it, if I, or Bea, or hell, any of the kids told you they needed a mental health day, you’d be down in a second.” At that Henry closes his mouth and though he frowns, Alex counts _that_ as a win too. “But, you know, if it will still make you feel bad, _even if it shouldn’t,_ then don’t do it for yourself. Do it for me.”

“… For you?”

“Mm-hm. I’m staying home today. We’ve been so overworked lately, I thought I’d do some self-studying. Stay with me. Keep me company. Make sure I don’t drive myself up the wall?” Henry flinches at the hope that seeps into his voice.

“I’m afraid… I’m not very good company right now.”

“ _Sweetheart_ …” Alex pushes himself on his knees, leaning forward to take Henry’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking the soft skin on his cheeks. “It’s _you_. I can’t ask for anything more.” He plants a chaste kiss to his lips, unsure of how Henry will react to any deeper contact right now.

But all the fight seems to leave him at the touch and he lets his forehead fall against Alex’s, eyes scrunched tight. “I… I love you, Alex.”

He frowns at the catch in his voice. “I love you too, baby,” Alex says, unable to hide his confusion.

Henry falls back down on the bed, looking like he’s carrying his entire weight twice over right on his chest. He promises to join him in the living room soon, he needs another moment, just one. Alex is not sure he believes him but he agrees anyway.

In the time it takes Henry to join him, Alex makes breakfast that he knows Henry’s not going to eat but hopes regardless, and settles down on the kitchen table to study, because he doesn’t want to lock himself up in a room. David joins him first, whining at his feet, looking as anxious as Alex feels.

“I know, I know,” Alex coos, giving him pets and cuddles and kisses, so he can at least help one member of this household today. “It’ll be okay, you know? Yes, yes, _good boy_.”

Henry joins them a good hour later. Alex heard the sounds from their room before he emerged, so a steaming mug of his favorite tea awaits him on the counter.

All Alex wants to do is rush to him and hug him and promise that nothing is going to break through his hold, nothing will touch him as long as he’s there. But these grieving days of his are not something that happens from the outside, not fully, not for the most part. And Henry hates bringing attention to it. Alex doesn’t get up. “Hey,” he smiles like it hasn’t been a long, torturous hour, like he can’t see how Henry drags every limb as if it hurts and leans too heavily against the counter as he grasps his mug so hard it might be burning him.

David has no such qualms. He paws at his owner’s feet until Henry picks him up, then nuzzles into his neck, looking for the perfect position before he settles there. Henry holds him tight, his shoulders loosening, the stress lines on his forehead smoothing out. Alex is kind of both happy and a little offended to see that David knows how to deal with this better.

“Did I tell you Bea sent some stuff from England? There’s, like, seven packages of Jaffa cakes in the cupboard.” He doesn’t need to comment that he’s the one who asked Bea to send some comfort food back when he first noticed the sleepless nights.

Henry nods with a small, grateful hint of not-quite-a-smile which might mean he knows exactly what Alex did. But he excuses himself to write while Alex does his work, bringing light to the one big plot-hole in his excuse to stay home today and jumping straight in, that stubborn idiot.

He wastes about thirty minutes pretending to stick to his own fake plan, before he heads to the couch, said cake packages in hand. He tosses them on the pillows and puts on Bake-Off, all the while being obnoxiously loud about what he’s doing.

Alex is halfway through the first episode when Henry shows up at the doorway, lingering there like he’s not quite certain where to go.

“I know what you’re doing,” he mutters when Alex meets his gaze.

“Trying to entice my beautiful boyfriend to spend time with me?” Alex retorts, the poster boy for fake innocence. “You caught me.”

Henry shakes his head. “Alex…” he starts but trails off, eyes caught on the floor. 

Ignoring Alex’s concerned gaze, he approaches the couch and claims his spot with his head on Alex’s lap. He doesn’t reach for the food and his gaze is too unfocused to be looking at the screen. He just buries himself deeper in the soft fabric of Alex’s shirt. He continues to drown, right there next to him and Alex feels like he doesn’t know how to swim anymore.

“What were you going to say, Hen?” he asks eventually, because he can’t ask him if he’s all right anymore, Henry won’t answer him.

“Hm?”

“You said my name before you sat down. What did you want to say?”

Henry sighs. “Alex…” He shifts, pushes himself as if to get up. Regrets it. Sits down. Sighs again. Trails off.

“Yes, that’s where you stopped last time too.” Henry finally makes a decision to sit up on the couch, body turned towards Alex but eyes decidedly everywhere _but_ on him. “What is it? Come on.” He does mutter something but hell if anyone could understand what he said. “Sorry, what?”

“I said… you can still call it off.”

Alex freezes. His mind doesn’t catch up yet but he can feel this pressure on his jaw, heat building in the back of his throat. “Call what off?”

Henry still doesn’t look at him and Alex has to clench his fists together so he doesn’t grab him by the shoulders until he does. _Look at me when you’re like this,_ he thinks. _Your imagination hurts you so much, just look at_ me _._

“This…? This place? Living together?”

The words hit like a punch to his stomach and he recoils, mouth open, eyes wide with hurt. “ _What?_ Why? Do _you_ want to- to…” He can’t repeat this. He can’t. “Is that why you’ve been…?”

“No!” Henry rushes, panicking at whatever look Alex is wearing. “I mean, yes— _but not like that._ I…” His eyes are wet when he looks up at him, his hair tousled from running his hands through it. They match. “Not about you. _For_ you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I know… I know this is _a lot_ , Alex.” He gestures, not to the room but to himself when he says it, and Alex wants to take his hands in his own to stop him from ever blaming himself like this again. “And maybe it was fine before, because I could deal with it on my own and leave you out of it for however long it lasted, but I can’t _hide it_ here.” 

He feels sick, watching Henry talk about himself like this. The way his voice cracks shoves all the broken shards of his heart down at his throat and he can’t speak anymore when all he should do is say _something_. 

“And… honestly, Alex, I’d rather you tell me now,” Henry adds at his silence. “I’d rather you tell me. Because I _can’t_ .” His breath catches, shudders, and he averts his gaze again. “I don’t want to get used to this. I know I said I was okay with you giving me as much of yourself as you wanted, for as long as you wanted me, but I never imagined _this._ A place for the two of us? Where we can be who we are? Where _I—?_ ” He stops himself again, before he can say it, before he can admit it. “Alex, I don’t know how to come back from this, so just… _please_ , tell me now.”

Alex has so many things he wants to say. But first, he leans forwards, takes those shaking, accusatory, beautiful hands of his in one of his own, places his other on the small of his back to pull him into a hug. Henry goes rigid yet doesn’t fight him. His head falls on Alex’s shoulder where he feels his shirt quickly go wet with tears. Most of all he wants to tell him to shut right up and he would have, if he didn’t know how wrong it could be interpreted in this mindset. _You’re such an idiot_ , comes to mind next. He fights that back too.

He breaks down everything Henry has told him in his mind once more. He doesn’t get further than two items down his list before he has to say something, because he can no longer stand to feel him trembling.

“Henry… Baby…” Henry buries himself deeper against him. “Do you love me any less when I have to wear my glasses?”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me.”

Henry is confused enough to push back so he can see him. “Of course not,” he says, frowning.

“Right?” Alex nods. “Then why would you ever think I’d love you any less for what you need?” He stammers, lost. Alex takes the opportunity to continue. “I love you. I love every stupid, wonderful, precious part of you. I love you when you cuddle me in the morning and I love you when you don’t want to be touched. I love you when you improvise a whole-ass thesis over the potential gayness of pop culture icons and when you _blasphemously_ insist that beans on toast counts as breakfast.” Henry chokes on a weak laugh and Alex fucking beams. “I love every part of you, H. Even the bad days. In sickness and in health.” He pauses. “Okay, I know we’re not married yet but you did give me a ring and I took and I still have it, _so_.”

Henry looks at him, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “What if… what if you change your mind? Alex, it’s so tiring.”

Alex ignores how fragile his own heart feels at the moment, how he thinks with a proper jolt he’d shatter into a million pieces and then Henry will really have something to worry about. He pulls him into another hug from the nape of his neck this time, massages the stress knots there. “Sweetheart, we’ve fought too hard not to fight for each other now.”

They stay like this for a few moments, with Henry evening out his breathing pressed against him and Alex stroking his hair, scratching slightly (and marveling on the inside when he makes him shudder). He lets go only when he hears a small, breathless chuckle from Henry. Curious, he pulls away to look at him.

Henry wipes his face with a sleeve, a hint of mirth tugging at his lips. “Do I love you any less without your glasses? Seriously?”

“I guess that wasn’t fair. I know you have a thing for me in glasses, you can’t hide it.”

“I haven’t tried.” Henry’s expression eases up, shoulders slumping, but Alex swears they don’t look as defeated anymore. “And you? Do you perchance have a thing for broody, angsty boys, lamenting over every stupid little thing, staring out the window of their tower?”

Alex does consider it for a second, because, well, he’s been oblivious to his own tastes before. He knows the answer to that one, though. “Nah. Don’t get me wrong, I love every version of you—including the… angsty, lamenting kind.” He places a palm on the side of Henry’s face, stroking the line of his cheekbone once, slowly. Henry leans into him like Alex can hold the world in those hands. He’s holding _his_ world, so in a way he’s not wrong. “But, H, every single version of me, whether that’s tired, happy, sad, horny or just so madly in love—oh, wait that’s true for all of them.” Henry laughs, albeit a little subdued, placing his own hand on top of Alex’s. His hands are cold. He’ll take care of that next. “Every piece of me will always rather see you smile. But you can bet your ass I’ll be here when you can’t.”

His hand twitches where he’s holding Alex’s, like he wants to hold him but he’s too afraid to give himself away. 

_Give yourself away. There’s room enough in this place for every part of us. We made it so._

“Promise?” Henry dares.

“I promise.”

Later that night, as they cuddle on the couch, opened wrappers tossed at their feet, stacked one on top of the other with David on the top, Alex dares too. “Can _you_ promise me something?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me next time. Please. I mean, you don’t have to tell me why, though you can and you should. You don’t even have to want me around. Just… tell me next time you feel like it’s getting bad. Don’t lie about it?”

Henry is silent for so long, Alex fights not to backtrack. “I’m… sorry,” he says. Alex gives his shoulder a squeeze. “And… I’ll try?”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

He plants a kiss on his forehead, feels Henry’s eyelashes flutter from where he’s resting his head against Alex’s neck. “Really.”

Alex knows Henry has bad days; he’s known for a while now. And now he’ll be there to see them happen. 

He’ll be there when Henry can’t get up in the morning and he’ll be there when his mind can’t quiet down to let him sleep. 

He’ll be there when he won’t, when he’ll need to leave him alone. 

He’ll be a phone call, a video chat, a loving email away for those times when they still manage to get stuck too far from each other (an international sex scandal doesn’t stop them from being stupid and it certainly doesn’t stop Alex from loving how much Henry loves letters or how much of his truth he pours into his words). 

Henry will still run and sometimes he won’t, and Alex will be better at helping him and he’ll be twice as bad. 

“Oh, and H?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve never seen how _you_ look in glasses.”

“That… can be arranged. Not today though.”

“I can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> So this was probably, uh, not all that. I don't know if I'm going to butcher this fandom again, but I can't promise I won't, so until next time? Maybe? Probably? No?
> 
> Oh, and please leave a comment before you go~ ε:


End file.
